Flying to Mars

The Cackling Hen is flying to Africa!

Those are words that will never feel natural flying out of my beak unless I move to Africa. It catches everyone off guard the first time, including myself. It continues to throw off the forgetful and friends who don't listen the second, third and fourth times they hear it.

Over the past few weeks, I've told friends and family I would not see them for about a month, as Hens on Ice will be having shows in South Africa for the first time in history, and the company keeps throwing me feed to skate in the shows. Everyone's immediate question is, "Where are you going?" And there is no time to prepare them for my response: "South Africa." Once that last "a" is pronounced, their eyes bulge and mouths open as if I'd said, "Mars."

Where's the arena?

A Mini Henplaint

In today's digital age, we make many purchases online. After a few times, I've become accustomed to the same process for buying flights, text books and my support for the less corrupt politician. A key part of forking my money over online is entering that "billing information," including my home address.

It is convenient in today's hustle (and usual bustle) to just type quickly, hit the "tab" key, and continue typing in the next box. On fancy sites, it will even automatically move me over to that next box - no "tab" necessary! Whew.

A Day in the Office

What is this crap?

When I returned home for a break from Hens on Ice, I had lofty but seemingly reasonable goals and tasks for my free time. I would only work two days a week part time, so I'd have plenty of time to tackle those boxes in the garage, finish that Lady Gaga-inspired painting and write the next great American novel. But now after over a month at home, the boxes have a year layer of dust, the painting canvas has been dry since 2011 and that novel has a long way to go. Now is the time to publicly address my problem and see where I've gone wrong so that book hits the shelves and that painting hits my wall. The boxes can wait.

It's always easier to point the finger at others and inanimate objects than fully accepting blame and responsibility. So here starts my finger pointing to why I am always doing something but never finishing anything.